


Shaman Camp

by blackmountainbones, BobSkeleton



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Americans writing Brit slang, Bringing Back the Boosh, But no actual watersports, Camp cliches, Clay genitalia, Dildo monsoon, Drugs, Flying dildos WOOHOO, Gen, Howard Moon is such a victim, One of us loves yetis the other loves Tony Harrison and this is why we are problematic, Prompt #6: Supernatural, Self-Insert Kind Of, This is our audition to write S4 of the Boosh, Vince and Howard are idiots, Watersports, any day now we expect the BBC to come calling, can watersports without piss REALLY be called watersports?, it's a shaman council fic what did you expect?, lots of sex talk but no actual sex, mentions of yeti fucking but no actual yeti fucking, shaman behaving badly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobSkeleton/pseuds/BobSkeleton
Summary: Somehow the other members of the Shaman Council discover that Naboo skipped his mandatory Shaman Camp Orientation for Newly Initiated Shaman 400 years ago by sending a golem in his place. Upon discovering this fact, the other members of the Council had voted that he be sent to complete his mandatory orientation. Unfortunately, since the rest of the Shaman Council skipped out on their mandatory orientations as well, Naboo must spend a weekend in the woods doing team-building exercises with the interdimensional beings he hates most in the world. Lucky for Naboo, a newly-initiated American shaman called The Stoned Enigma joins them, and after 406 years, Naboo finally makes his first friend.





	Shaman Camp

**Author's Note:**

> Stoney: Writing fic is a slippery slope. You tell yourself you’ll never write RPS, but then you write RPS. You say you’ll never write a self-insert, but then you write a self-insert. This is really all BobSkeleton’s fault. One of our very first conversations on Tumblr involved me talking about astrology while extremely stoned, and BobSkeleton called me a shaman. Thus, The Stoned Enigma was born.
> 
> BobSkeleton: This is my first collab fic, and it was everything I hoped for and more. Stoney and I have had many conversations about these idiots and the Booshiverse as a whole and we’re just glad we get to play in this sandbox. I hope you all think this is as hilarious as we did. 
> 
> If you would like your own copy of the camp itinerary, click [here](https://ibb.co/1Gdrb5F)

Naboo stood at the gate, waiting for the bus to arrive.

He was livid. Somehow the other members of the Shaman Council had discovered that Naboo had skipped his mandatory Shaman Camp Orientation for Newly Initiated Shaman 400 years ago by sending a golem in his place. Upon discovering this fact, the other members of the Council had voted that he be sent to complete his mandatory orientation.

Unfortunately, Naboo had discovered that all of the other members of the Council had perpetuated similar schemes in order to avoid spending a weekend at Shaman Camp, and therefore he would be joined by Dennis, Saboo, Tony Harrison, and Kirk. 

Naboo turned to his familiar, an ape named Bollo. “I got a bad feeling about this,” he muttered.

“You got bad feeling about this?” Bollo responded, incredulous. “Bollo not even a Shaman and he getting dragged into this. How you think Bollo feel?” 

Naboo groaned and ignored his ape’s predictions of gloom and doom. 

His attention was distracted by a shaman of indeterminate gender with messy brown hair and wearing cargo shorts, a crop top, and a tiny hat advertising something called Campagnolo. They were wearing a messenger bag and swearing in American while kicking at the beat-up suitcase at their feet.

“Why are you kicking your suitcase?” the small shaman lisped. 

The androgynous shaman startled and looked over their shoulder at Naboo. “Oh, um,” they said, looking awkward, “my familiars were trying to get out.” They knelt down and unzipped the suitcase. Two cats leapt out of the bag, one small tabby with bold stripes, and one large, fluffy, grey and white longhair. They sat at the American shaman’s feet, both gazing at Naboo and looking unimpressed. 

“How did you end up here?” Naboo asked, curious. You didn’t see too many American shaman-- America was a crass, greedy, materialistic country that denied the existence of magic.

“I don’t know,” they said. “I thought I was just your standard-regular amateur astrologer. Then one day I could hear the moon talk, and I got a letter in the mail that informed me that I’m a shaman called The Stoned Enigma and I had to attend the mandatory orientation at Shaman Camp.”

“Pretty cool,” Naboo said smiling. “I’m Naboo the Enigma, and I’m also stoned.”

“You can call me Stoney,” the Stoned Enigma said. Luckily, they did not try to shake hands or hug, for which Naboo was grateful--he disliked human greeting rituals, especially those that infringed on one’s personal space. 

Stoney zipped up their suitcase and gathered the big furry grey cat into their arms, which went limp and started purring loudly. “Hey, you got any weed?” they asked. “It was hard enough to internationally smuggle two cats--I had to throw mine out at the airport. Fuckin’ TSA.”

Naboo reached into his pocket and pulled out an expertly-rolled blunt, which he passed to his new companion. “Where are you from?”

“New England,” The Stoned Enigma said, gratefully accepting the drugs.

The Americas were a primitive place, but New England was pretty close to Old England, so Naboo was confident that they would get along. It would be nice to have a friend that he didn’t hate to keep him company during orientation weekend at Shaman Camp.

They turned, their attention on a rickety bus growling its way up the road. Naboo heaved a sigh, as though accepting the inevitability that all of this was really happening and there was no getting out of it this time. 

“I imagine this is us,” he said to The Stoned Enigma. Before they could reply, the door hissed open. 

“Get in, you negligent ballbags,” spat the driver, a Shaman dressed head-to-toe in black with a very impressive feathered hat. 

“Saboo, you slag, there’s no need to be like that!” came a nasally voice from the dashboard. “Shaman Camp is supposed to be fun! Come on then, kids, get in!” The voice belonged to none other than Tony Harrison, who was, for all intents and purposes, a disembodied pink head with tentacles. 

Naboo and Tthe Stoned Enigma shared a pained expression, picked up their bags, and stepped onto the bus. Bollo resolutely stayed behind.

“C’mon, Bollo, get on the bleedin’ bus,” Naboo called out the window.

“Does Bollo have to?”

Naboo rolled his eyes. “Yes. There’s a mandatory seminar for all familiars.”

Bollo obediently stepped onto the bus, grumbling under his breath. Though Naboo couldn’t hear him, he had no doubt that he was muttering all sorts of reasons that he had a bad feeling about this.

Once Bollo finally boarded, Saboo, the driver, shut the door behind him. “Take a seat, any seat.” 

“Welcome aboard!” Tony Harrison keened. “Destination: Shaman Camp. Estimated time of arrival: one and a half hours. And now, take your seats, get comfortable, and enjoy the dulcet tones of ‘Pet Sounds.’” 

“No,” Saboo replied sharply. “I will sever my own ears if I have to listen to that the whole way there.”

“Come off it, Saboo, that’s Brian Wilson’s seminal work! It’s a masterpiece of the modern era!” 

“Adding special effects to mediocre music does not make it a masterpiece!”

A tall, hairless Shaman stood from the middle of the bus. 

“That’s enough!” he said, voice raised and commanding. “Tony, you can listen to one side of Pet Sounds, then Saboo gets to pick. Now stop your bickering and let’s get on with it.” 

With that, Saboo started the engine, and the bus grumbled to life, the sweet strains “Wouldn’t It  Be Nice” filling the interior of the oversized vehicle.

Naboo was thankful when Stoney lit up the blunt he’d given them. Even though he knew there was no amount of drugs in the world that could make this bad trip any less terrible, he was determined to try.

 

 

Arrival at the campsite did not improve matters. They discovered Shaman Camp was to be held at a campground that had definitely seen better days. It was populated with a swampy lake, two rickety cabins, a rack of rusty canoes, and a small canteen/gathering lodge. 

“Oh, this is the life!” Tony Harrison exclaimed. “Fresh air, bonding, magic, it doesn’t get much better than this!” 

“Anything is better than this, you crease,” Saboo replied dourly. “Besides, you weren’t so keen when you were getting carsick twenty minutes ago.” 

After the bus’s disgruntled occupants disembarked and grabbed their luggage, the tall shaman, Dennis, led them over to one of the cabins. He stood on the small porch, and faced the motley assembly gathered before him. 

“Welcome to Shaman Camp. For those of you who don’t know, I am Dennis, Head of the Board of Shaman, and coordinator for this retreat. Inside are our accommodations. We will settle in a bit, then at 6:00 sharp gather for dinner at the lodge. Bathrooms and showers are located in the cabin next door, and I expect all of you--”

A small, childlike, and completely untrustworthy being named Kirk dashed past Dennis into the cabin. 

“I get the one next to the window!” he shouted. 

“Good, I hope he gets all the midges,” said Saboo, pushing his way through next. 

Tony Harrison had to be lifted up the steps to the porch, and he crawled in after. 

Naboo shot a dirty look at Dennis, then shrugged as he looked at Bollo and the Stoned Enigma and said, “Guess we better get in there, too.” 

The cabin was small and rustic with no electricity, powered lights, or air conditioning. The warm air made it feel close and humid. Predictably, Saboo and Tony Harrison had claimed bunks towards the back of the room. Kirk had the top bunk next to the only window which let in a paltry amount of light (especially when the insect-to-light ratio was taken into consideration). Dennis sat shuffling papers on the bunk below Kirk’s. Naboo climbed to the top of a bunk near the door, leaving Bollo below. The Stoned Enigma, happily, took the bunk beside Naboo’s, realizing with delight that an odd number of occupants meant they might have lucked out incredibly and gotten the whole bunk to themselves. 

It was only twenty minutes or so before the Shaman made their way to the lodge for the evening meal. The food was served by a grim looking greyish man in a splattered apron who Naboo wasn’t entirely convinced wasn’t a ghost. “Meatloaf surprise” was the dish for the night. The only surprise about it was how little it resembled an actual meatloaf.

 

 

At dinner, printed itineraries were left at each place setting, complete with Comic Sans font and truly abysmal clipart:

FRIDAY:

6PM: Dinner   
7:30-9 PM: Bonfire

10:30: Lights out

SATURDAY:

11AM: Brunch

1PM: Arts and Crafts

2 PM: Team Building Exercises

3-4PM: Free hour

4PM: Foraging

6PM: Dinner

7:30-9 PM: Bonfire

10:30: Lights out

SUNDAY:

11AM: Brunch

1PM: Archery

2PM: Water Sports

5PM: Parting snack and Departure

ETA in London: 7PM

*NOTE: Familiars, please see Tony Harrison for your edited itineraries.

“At least we have water sports to look forward to,” Tony Harrison commented suggestively. If he’d had eyebrows, he’d have been waggling them. 

 

 

Naboo and Stoney had been tasked with preparing the bonfire. 

Naboo grumbled. He wasn’t really the outdoorsy type--he preferred to stay inside, for the easy access to things like his drugs and telly. Stoney, on the other hand, seemed to know what they were doing as they piled sticks into a strangely architectural pile. Naboo gladly let them do all the work.

“I hate this shite,” he grumbled. “I’m a shaman, not a lumberjack. I don’t know how to do any of this.”

Stoney shrugged and pushed their glasses up their nose. “S’not hard. You just make a pile of sticks, light it on fire, and throw the weed in.”

“How do you know how to do all this stuff anyway?” Naboo asked.

“I do a lot of bikepacking,” Stoney admitted. They were still mildly annoyed that the itinerary for Shaman Camp had not included mountain biking--this forest looked  _ gnarly _ . “It’s kind of like mountain biking and camping at the same time.”

“Cool,” Naboo said, and because he was not doing anything productive, decided to roll a blunt, which he sparked and handed to Stoney, who accepted it gratefully. 

They sat and got stoned and piled up sticks until Stoney declared the bonfire ready to light. The dry tinder smoked a bit, then caught fire. When the flames began to jump, Stoney threw a handful of dank buds into the fire, inhaling the fragrant smoke with a look of stoned pleasure on their face. 

Once the fire (and the two Shaman) were blazing, the rest of the group arrived made their way to the, frankly, filthy-looking fire pit. 

“What now?” asked Saboo. 

“Tell us a story, a well frightening one. It’s what’s done at campfires!” droned Tony Harrison. 

Stoney began, telling a vaguely sexual story about the Yeti. They’d just gotten to the best part when Kirk interrupted with, “Boring!” 

“I thought this was supposed to be a  _ scary  _ story,” added Saboo.

“Yeah, that’s exactly how Yetis are. Horny.”

Stoney shrugged and took another puff on the blunt. “I dunno, usually this story freaks out all my friends when we’re camping.” They turned to Naboo. “You’ve met a Yeti?”

“I’ve met like six,” Naboo said. “Almost got seduced by the lady-yeti sex magic.”

“Wait,” Stoney asked, “you mean there are  _ lady _ yetis?” They looked altogether too interested in the subject.

“Yeah. All Yetis are women. Like all centaurs are men.”

“And they do  _ sex magic _ ?” Stoney asked, even more excited.

Naboo plucked the blunt from between their fingers, then took a big hit and exhaled dramatically. “It’s terrifying.”

“Fuck. I’ve always wanted a Yeti girlfriend,” Stoney said.

“Aw, I  _ knew  _ you had good taste!” said Tony Harrison. “Always preferred large women myself!” 

“We’re changing the topic  _ now,”  _ Saboo ordered. “If I have to listen to Tony bloody Harrison’s sexual escapades, I’m getting in that bus RIGHT NOW and leaving.” 

“Just because you’re a sexual ascetic, Saboo, don’t ruin it for the rest of us!” 

“Better an ascetic than a perverted, deviant knob.” 

“Enough!” Dennis took control of the group back. “I think that’s enough campfire time. Go clean up or whatever and get to bed. I want to see all of you at Shaman Brunch in the morning.” 

 

 

Back at the cabin, Stoney opened their suitcase and shuffled through the contents. Curious, Naboo looked over to see what they had brought.

“Why is your suitcase full of dildos and spanners?”

“Huh? Spanner?”

Naboo pointed to one of the many pieces of metal in Stoney’s suitcase.

“Oh, where I’m from we call them wrenches.”

“Were you planning on fixing the broken plumbing in the loo or something?’

“Nah, those are my magic wands. You need different sizes for different size magic.” They held up a medium-size spanner. “This is a 10mm, good for most jobs. But you have a big job--” here they paused and grabbed an extra-large wrench--”you’re going to want a 17mm for that.”

“But what about the dildos?” Naboo asked.

“Well, I brought my strapon, and it’s good to have options,” Stoney said enigmatically. “Besides, throwing dildos at people is part of my seduction technique. Works about 60% of the time.” 

Naboo chuckled and went back to the bunk he was sharing with Bollo. At exactly 10:30, all light was extinguished, and the Shaman, full of meatloaf surprise and more than a little stoned, went to sleep. 

 

 

Morning brought with it lots of grumbling as the Shaman made their way to brunch. No one asked the maybe-ghost what it was, exactly. No one wanted to know. But there was something vaguely sangria-like, and that got drunk up immediately.

“Right,” said Dennis to the group. “First, we have arts and crafts. That’ll be here in the lodge.” 

“What are we making?” asked Tony Harrison. 

“We have clay so we’ll be doing the ancient and refined art of sculpture. Something intrinsically important to you as a being, something that philosophically embodies the meaning of your existence.” 

Of course, Dennis should have realized he’d end up with a collection of clay bongs and penises. Really, what had he expected? Most shaman tended to be drug addicts or sexual deviants, or even both at the same time.

Hors d'oeuvres were served after the craft times, and then they were off outside to the horror that was “Team Building Exercises.” 

Meanwhile, back at the lodge, the familiars, limited to Bollo and Stoney’s cats, had to sit in a circle and share one embarrassing story about themselves. Given that the cats didn’t speak and spent the entire time licking their genitals instead of contributing to the conversation, the entire thing took about twenty seconds, and left Bollo full of bad feelings--and cat hair.

The Shaman’s so-called “Team Building Exercises” started with back-to-back drawing, an appalling exercise in which the Shaman paired off and sat back-to-back. One of them was given a pad and pen, and the other one had to describe to their partner what to draw. The end goal was to see which pair had the most accurate drawing. 

Once again, Dennis should have known better. The exercises concluded with notepads full of genitalia and deviant sex acts. 

Next came the trust falls. 

After doing trust falls with Bollo and Tony Harrison, who were both inherently untrustworthy, the group was more disgruntled than ever, and  _ needed  _ the hour long free period, during which they all snuck drugs and sulked about how miserable Shaman Camp was. 

“Why is Dennis so awful?” Stoney asked, crushing up a handful of weed into the blunt wrap Naboo cradled carefully in his palm.

“No one knows for sure,” Naboo said enigmatically.

Saboo tossed a pinch of something white and powdered onto the blunt. “Who cares? Just smoke some PCP and ignore him like the rest of us do.”

“Part of it is his extreme sports calendar wife,” added Tony Harrison. “Always trying to cuckold him and he gets off on it, that absolute prick. How he managed to bag her, I’ll never know.” 

“Oh, that is rich, coming from you,” replied Saboo sardonically. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” whined Tony Harrison, tentacles twitching as though he’d fight the black-clad Shaman. 

“You know perfectly well what I mean. How  _ you  _ managed to hoodwink Mrs. Harrison into a centuries-long partnership is the second greatest mystery of all time.” 

“How dare you!” said Tony, inching closer to Saboo. “Mrs. Aitch and I enjoy a marriage of true equals. Quit slagging us off just because you’ve metaphorically married the Crunch.” 

“Anyway,” said Naboo as he expertly pinched the edges of the wrap together and twisted it into another perfectly-rolled blunt. “Dennis is always trying to cheat on his wife too, but all the ladies instinctively know how pathetic he is so he never scores.” He put the blunt between his lips, then ruffled through his pockets in search of a lighter. Unfortunately, his pockets seemed to be full of frogs, drugs, and other paraphernalia, but not a lighter. 

“That’s not the only reason he never scores,” snarked Saboo. “Look at his creepy dead eyes and shit tattoos. He looks like a complete pillock.”

Stoney nodded. “Yeah, he does,” they agreed, then cackled, their strange, barking laugh echoing. They were still chuckling a bit when they leaned over Naboo’s shoulder and flicked their lighter. Naboo nodded thankfully as he inhaled, the cherry burning bright as the blunt sparked to life. He took a few hits and passed it to Stoney, who accepted it gratefully. 

“This is a flagrant violation of weed etiquette,” Saboo grumbled. “Everyone knows you’re supposed to pass the Dutchie to the right-hand side.”

“Shit off,” Naboo grumbled. “I hate you, you pompous pedant.”

Stoney took another hit, and held in the smoke as they passed the blunt to Tony Harrison, who took a puff and blew the smoke at Saboo’s face tauntingly. 

“That’s what you get for daring to speak about Mrs. Harrison, you piss-licking bellend,” he said smugly, as though this was any sort of proper confrontation. 

“How dare you, you know very well--”

Saboo was cut off as the group heard a distant voice calling. It was Dennis, summoning Saboo. Out of habit, he grabbed Tony Harrison and carried him under his arm like a rugby ball amidst cries of, “Put me down, you toe-rag, I will  _ not  _ be manhandled in this manner! This is an outrage!” The rest of his tirade faded into the distance.

“Wow, those two really like to lick Dennis’s balls,” Stoney observed, watching as Saboo and Tony Harrison answered Dennis’s call.

“Yeah, it’s disgusting,” Naboo agreed. “At least they left us the blunt.” 

“It’s the least they could do,” Stoney said. “Those guys suck.”

“Suck Dennis’s dick,” Naboo muttered, and he and Stoney erupted into a fit of laughter as they finished smoking their PCP-laced blunt. Unfortunately, the hallucinogenic properties of PCP were highly suggestible, and they spent the rest of their free period and the entirety of the foraging examination on their asses while being assailed by visions of Tony Harrison and Saboo putting Dennis’s genitals into their mouths and bickering back and forth over who was more of an arse-licker. It was terrible, and they were almost glad when the bell rang for dinner. 

 

 

The evening meal was, allegedly, beef stroganoff. If the ghostly server had an extra fresh looking stain on his apron, everyone did their best not to think about it.

The bonfire preparation was relegated to Saboo and Tony Harrison this evening. After about half an hour, the rest of the group joined them only to discover they hadn’t started  _ anything.  _ Predictably, they’d spent the last half hour bickering about how Saboo had to do all the work on account of Tony Harrison not having actual limbs or thumbs. 

Dennis angrily got the fire started, and before long, everyone was sitting, content and thoroughly baked, beneath the stars.

Naboo and Stoney sat and stared up at the sky. It was a new moon, and the dark sky was crowded with stars.

“Fuck, I’m glad it’s a new moon,” Stoney admitted. “I know I only just started being able to hear the moon talk, but he’s a blathering idiot.”

“Yeah,” Naboo said, “he is.”

“Was a big disappointment, that,” Stoney said. “You know, you spend years worshipping the Moon, thinking you’re worshipping a lesbian warrior goddess, then the moon turns out to be an idiot, and a dude, to boot.” They grimaced. “The Greeks were wrong about that.”

“They were also wrong about togas,” added Naboo mysteriously. 

Dennis tried to get the group singing “Kumbaya” and failed miserably. The fire died down and the group made their way back to the cabin. Only one more day to get through. 

 

 

The shaman were still in bed, sleeping off the excesses of the previous night, when they were awoken by a commotion.

“What fresh strain of fuckery is this?” groused Saboo, still half asleep.

As the noise grew closer, the Shaman could distinguish a single word being called out repetitively:  _ NABOOOO! _

“Naboo, get out there and make it stop,” Saboo ordered. Naboo shuffled from his bunk and exited the cabin, and found, to his surprise, his tenants standing outside the cabin. Vince’s eyes were wide in surprise and curiosity; Howard shuffled awkwardly back and forth, very obviously hiding something behind his back and looking like he was about to turn and run away as quickly as he could.

“What are  _ you _ ballbags doing here?” Naboo grumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He hated being woken up early, especially by two idiots who were as idiotic as Vince and Howard.

The rest of the Shaman came shuffling over, curious to see what the commotion was all about. In a desperate attempt to cling to his authority as the Head Shaman, Dennis stated, “This is a shaman-only retreat.”

“Well, yeah, we  _ know _ ,” Vince answered. “But we have an  _ emergency _ .”

“What kind of emergency could possibly merit you two idiots crashing Shaman Camp?” Naboo wanted to know.

Stoney elbowed the shorter shaman. If Naboo had been a regular-sized shaman, it would have caught him in the torso, but unfortunately, as Naboo was considerably smaller than regular-sized, their elbow jabbed him in the jaw. “Fuck, what was that all about?” Naboo hissed.

“Be nice to them,” Stoney whispered. “I like the look of the big one, all shaggy and tragic looking.”

Confused and appalled, Naboo stared at his new friend, unsure if he understood what they meant.

Luckily, as Stoney was an American, they lacked any sense of subtlety at all. “I’m going to peg him.”

Naboo, who was unfamiliar with many of the terms humans used to describe their disgusting sexual urges, stared blankly.

“I  _ mean _ ,” Stoney hissed, “that I’m going to use my strapon to sodomize his giant pumpkin ass.”

Naboo cringed, feeling horrified and betrayed that someone he had trusted not to be a giant wanker would ever consider doing sexual things to someone as awful as Howard Moon. Howard was the most pathetic creature Naboo had ever seen, which was saying a lot, as Naboo had worked in Bob Fossil’s Zooniverse, where most of the animals were either stuffed or zookeepers in animal suits.

“Naboo, as much as I am entertained by your tenant and his ugly girlfriend tracking you down, I must remind you that familiars are the only non-Shaman allowed at Shaman Camp. Your pets need to go back to London, this is a complete outrage!” Tony Harrison whined.

“Fine,” Naboo sighed, and turned towards his two hapless flatmates. “Well, Howard, Vince,” he said, shooting a significant look at the two men in question as he addressed them, “what could possibly have gone so wrong in your lives that you needed to follow me all the way to Shaman Camp?”

Howard removed his hands from behind his back. He was holding the flat’s communal tea kettle in his hands. It appeared to be perfectly normal in every way, so Naboo raised a brow in question. “The teakettle,” Howard said, his voice quavering a bit with cowardice. “It won’t... uh... boil water.”

Naboo let out another much-abused sigh. “You came all this way to tell me the teakettle is broken?” He would never understand the English and their attachment to boiled leaf juice. In Naboo’s opinion, tea was useless for getting a buzz going; the only thing it was good for was reading the future. If you wanted to wake up,  _ really _ wake up, it was more effective to snort some cocaine or rail some meth or hell, even smoke some crack.

Saboo leered over the quaking Jazz Maverick. “Have you tried turning it off and then back on again?” 

“What are you, the I.T. department?” Vince asked sarcastically. “Of  _ course _ we tried turning it off and then back on again.”

Naboo rummaged in the pockets of his voluminous purple robe and fished out a twenty pound note. 

“There, go buy yourselves a new one and go away.”

“Actually,” keened Tony Harrison, scuttling to the front of the group, “I notice water sports is on the agenda for today. Maybe the pretty lady would like to stick around for that.” He made a leering, suggestive face at Vince, who moved to crouch behind Howard. 

“No, thanks,” Vince said, attempting politeness. “We’ll just be on our way…”

“You  _ do  _ know that means  _ literal  _ water sports, you knob-headed mingebag, not  _ that  _ kind of water sports,” Saboo informed Tony. 

While the other shaman regressed into an argument about aquatic sports and kinky sex, Stoney edged a bit closer to Howard, who regarded the androgynous and feral-looking shaman suspiciously. Howard had seen many creatures, human and otherwise, look at him with that... look... and in each instance, he had been violated, assaulted, and/or harassed in a sexual way.

“So, you’re Howard,” Stoney said.

“Yes, sir, I’m Howard Moon, Jazz Maverick and Man of Action,” Howard introduced himself, still feeling a bit unsettled by the way the androgynous shaman was creeping ever-closer to him.

“I’m The Stoned Enigma,” Stoney said, offering a bike grease-stained hand for Howard to shake. “But you can call me Stoney for short.” 

Howard accepted the gesture, just to be polite, and was surprised when the small hand immediately tightened around his with a crushing grip. He yelped, and Stoney mercifully released his aching hand from their own.

“Sorry!” they said, looking apologetic. “Mechanic strength, you know. Sometimes I forget!”

“It’s fine,” Howard lied as he shook his hand in an attempt to make the pain stop. It was not fine--a jazz maverick with his level of innate talent needed their hands to be in good working order at all times, in case they were ever called on to play jazz at a moment’s notice. He looked over his shoulder for help, but there was none to be found--Vince and the rest of the shaman council were still engrossed in their argument over whether water sports that did not involve piss even qualified as water sports.

Though Stoney was several inches shorter than Howard, they had somehow managed to corner him and lead him inside to one of the bunks on which a half-opened suitcase rested. “Hey, I want you to take a look at something,” they said.

Fearing for his life if he resisted, Howard said “sure” _ , _ even if he  _ meant _ “no”.

The Stoned Enigma flipped open the top of the suitcase to reveal a pile of spanners and phallic-shaped objects of many varied colors, shapes, and textures. Howard was terrified. He was not sure what kind of depraved sex games required both penetration and the tightening of nuts, and he did not want to find out.

Stoney seemed oblivious to Howard’s discomfort (which was probably due to Howard’s stoic Northern English demeanor) and immediately started sifting through the suitcase and describing the relative merits of each type of dildo. “This one is extra large for the size queens, but don’t worry, we can work you up to that one with some of the smaller ones! And  _ this _ one is textured, you know, for extra sensation--”

At this moment, Vince stuck his head through the door, having managed to tear himself away from the impassioned urine-themed discussion happening on the porch. 

“Alright, Howard? Let’s get going, yeah? We’ve got twenty pounds,” he grinned. “If we buy a cheap kettle we can get some wine gums or bootlaces.”

Howard looked as though he might faint in relief as he hurried to Vince’s side. 

“Yes, well, erm, better be off. We have, er, important business to attend to.” 

Vince offered a small wave. “See ya,” and the pair turned to exit the cabin. They tried to sneak their way past the cluster of Shaman, and they might have succeeded, too, had Stoney not taken their quick departure as a personal insult.

“Hey, where are you going?’ they growled, their feral nature suddenly taking on a more dangerous edge. “I was going to sodomize you!”

At that moment, a rain of oblong silicone objects showered from the cabin upon Vince and Howard in a veritable torrent of dildos. 

Vince squealed, side-stepping them. “Gross, Howard, let’s go! This place is well creepy!”

“Please, don’t kill me,” Howard pleaded with The Stoned Enigma. “I’ve got so much to give!”

“Quit scaring off Naboo’s pet and his lady-friend!” whined Tony Harrison. 

Stoney bared their teeth and lunged at Tony Harrison. Only Naboo’s hand on their shoulder held them back from mauling the pink tentacled talking ballbag. “C’mon, Stoney,” Naboo soothed. “Howard’s the worst. He listens only to the kind of music where every song is like ten minutes long and there are no words, and his hobbies include organizing his Stationary Village and bookmarks. Besides, I’m pretty sure that he and Vince are in a homosexual life partnership, even if neither of them realize it yet.”

Stoney was as much of a drug-addled sex pervert as any other shaman, but even a drug-addled sex pervert could have principles. They did not want to get in the way of another person’s relationship, no matter how big and luscious their ass might look, so they let Howard and Vince go without any further trouble.

Besides, Naboo was kind enough to share the blunt he’d rolled out of the finest Humbolt County Girl Scout Cookies, and  _ that  _ strain of weed was kind enough to calm even a llama down.

They watched Vince and Howard run their way back out of the woods, before heading down to brunch as a shamanic unit. 

Archery did not really end up happening, so much as everyone just standing around bitching about the insects and the lumpy mattresses (Saboo did attempt to shoot Tony Harrison out of the bow. It did not work).

“Water sports” involved Kirk sailing to the middle of the lake in a canoe with his eyes shut, and the reopening of the shaman’s earlier argument regarding the best deviant sexual practices in which one could engage. It seemed that the Shaman Council was able to come to a rare pro-watersport consensus--with the exception of Naboo, who abhorred all sexual acts, even the vanilla ones, though Stoney voted in favor of watersports as a proxy.  

The “evening snack” turned out to be pudding cups. Plain old chocolate, not even the swirly ones. The ghostly cafeteria worker was nowhere to be seen. 

Tired, grumpy, sexually frustrated, and a little stoned, the Shaman packed their belongings and filed back on the janky school bus, grateful to be leaving Shaman Camp. Saboo and Tony Harrison took the wheel, with Tony Harrison playing DJ while Saboo angrily munched a kiwi, skin and all. Dennis looked on, horrified (what kind of a heathen eats the skin of a kiwi?), then busied himself with acting important and guiding the Shaman through the embarkation process. The rest of the Shaman dutifully ignored him as they took their seats on the rickety bus. 

There wasn’t much talking--everyone was looking forward to leaving the woods, mosquitoes, stupid activities, and questionable food behind and returning to normal life. Whatever “normal life” entailed for interdimensional, drug-addled, magic beings. Bollo sat at the back of the bus with Kirk, cradling one of Stoney’s cats like a baby, the big fluffy and stupid one, and Drowsy purred contentendly while Dizzy glared, plotted, and attempted to eat Saboo’s hair. 

Stoney and Naboo took seats next to each other, contemplating the scenery outside the window. At long last with a sputter, the bus took off down the road. Tony Harrison put on  _ Mirage  _ by Fleetwood Mac, and even Saboo was too worn out to gripe about it. 

“So that’s that,” Stoney said awkwardly. “I guess I’m a real shaman now, huh?”

Naboo rolled his eyes. “Shaman Camp is pointless. I don’t know why they make us do this,” he grumbled. “You don’t need a weekend-long orientation filled with pointless group activities to be a shaman. You were a shaman as soon as the Moon started talking to you.”

Stoney smiled. “You think so?”

Naboo’s face stretched uncomfortably. For a moment he panicked, alarmed that he may have broken something, but then he realized that he was smiling too. The little-used muscles lifting his lips ached, but in a good way, kind of like the way a hangover after a weekend of partying hurt: the pain was made better by the fact that you’d had a really, really good time to deserve feeling so awful. 

It was strange, Naboo thought, to get that feeling from interacting with another living being. In his 406 years of life, such moments of joy had usually been caused by really, really good drugs, not other humans. As soon as he realized that, Naboo was overwhelmed by another unfamiliar feeling: that of affection and.... camaraderie? Was this what friendship felt like, a warm, almost-liquid sensation of happiness that happened when you were with a person you....  _ didn’t _ hate?

Naboo reached into his pocket for the blunt he’d rolled for the trip home, and Stoney reached over to light it for him. Naboo took a big hit, and smiled again as he exhaled a cloud of thick, strong-smelling smoke. “You know,” he said, surprising himself, “the rest of the Shaman Council are total ballbags, but... hanging out with you all weekend was almost kind of--fun.”

Stoney threw back their head and laughed in that braying cackle that would normally have annoyed Naboo, but for some reason, he found himself strangely endeared by their unique laugh, and before he realized it, he was laughing too.

“Shit,” Stoney said, wiping a tear from their eye, “they really  _ are _ awful, aren’t they?” 

Naboo handed them the blunt and nodded.

Stoney took a deep drag. “You know,” they said, “I’m glad you were here. I think I may have lost my shaman license for like, punching Dennis in his annoying face or something if you hadn’t been around. You’re pretty cool. And you have really, really good weed.”

Naboo may have flushed a bit from the compliment. “I know you live in New England and all, but maybe we could.... stay in touch?”

“Do shaman use, like email or something?” Stoney asked through a mouthful of smoke. “Cos I’m bad at computers. I break them. Uranus on the Ascendant and all, you know. Makes electronics go all weird when I touch them.”

Naboo had never quite caught on to modern technology either. “Well, I’ve got a couple of magical messenger pigeons. They could cross the Atlantic easily.”

“Wicked!” Stoney exclaimed, then passed him the blunt and slung an arm around Naboo’s shoulder. Naboo squirmed a bit--he wasn’t used to physical contact, especially not between himself and his fellow shaman, but he wasn’t uncomfortable, just... unused to friendly gestures like hugs.

But he thought that maybe he could get used to the occasional friendly hug, especially now that it seemed that Naboo had an  _ actual _ friend.

The bus rolled on towards London, taking the Shaman back home. Across the world in the night sky, the Moon chuckled to himself. 

“Sometimes, you notice things when you are the Moon, like… a little shaman and a star witch, and you think ‘Eh! They should, uh, be friends! Friends, like me and Jupiter.’ And it feels prickly like little bat feet when that happens. But good… like fuzzy little bat feet… I’m the Moon.” 

  
  
  


BONUS: Postcard from Tony Harrison to Mrs. H

WEATHER IS HERE, WISH YOU WERE BEAUTIFUL! 

Ohhh, I’m just taking the piss, pet, you’re gorgeous and you know it. I miss you. Shaman Camp is great! Food’s a bit shit, but that’s to be expected. Sharing a bunk with Saboo, he is my best friend. We did arts and crafts! I sculpted a replica of my multi-hexagonal barbed alien penis, but I thought of you the entire time, my love. Tomorrow we are doing archery! Saboo says he’ll try and shoot me out of the bow. I’d like to see him try, that slag! Camp is great but I miss you. Can’t wait to come home, do poppers til my nose bleeds, and fuck you into the mattress, dearest. 

See you soon! 

XOXOX, 

The H-Man 

**Author's Note:**

> That’s all, folks! We had a great time with this fic, and hopefully you had as much fun reading this as we had writing it.
> 
> This is our audition to become writers for Season 4 of the Boosh, so hit that kudos button and leave comments to let us know how we did!


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